


The Chicken and the Egg

by Ruby_Blueeyes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable, Fluff, M/M, My penance for writing angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:53:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Blueeyes/pseuds/Ruby_Blueeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes his first breakfast with the help of Sam, and determines that he is not, in fact, a chicken.</p><p>Dean, however, might be an egg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chicken and the Egg

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Hufflecas, because I made her cry with the last one which was supposed to be fluff and turned into angst and everyone was really upset the end.

It was not his fault.

Angels, superior beings that they were, could think more than one thought at once. This business of having to process each and every word in the thought, then piece them together to have the thought, and then process what that thought was and what it possibly meant to what was actually happening was nothing short of exhausting. Granted it all happened extremely quickly by human standards, but to Castiel it felt like thinking through soup.

Soup. He liked creamy potato with chunks of honeyed ham.

That was another problem, tangential thinking. He had no secondary line of thought that he could dedicate to soup right now, he had only one line and he needed to dedicate that to making breakfast, but he had to wrestle and wrangle with this unbidden soup tangent.

At this point, Castiel had been standing in the middle of the kitchen for a full five minutes, un-moving, staring at the fridge as though it held the answers of the Angel Tablet instead of a carton of eggs, some milk, and those questionable yellow slices that Dean insisted were cheese. Castiel wasn’t even convinced they had ever seen a cow. Cows were such lovely, calm creatures. He liked them almost as much as bees.

Bees meant honey. Honey meant tea. Tea meant breakfast.

He’d better get to work.

While Castiel finally moved toward the fridge, Sam was finally able to slowly release the breath he had been holding back. He had almost ruined things by laughing out loud. Castiel’s difficulty adjusting as a human was unusually hilarious today. Ten minutes ago Sam had enlightened him to the proper uses of a toothbrush. Now, he was just sitting back to watch as the ex-angel insisted on making breakfast himself. From scratch. Not even toaster waffles were considered in the making of this breakfast.

“I find the concept of toasters disturbing. They are... unpredictable,” he’d told Sam, and Sam had to bite his lip to keep from offending his friend with an amused grin. He refrained from asking how Castiel felt about the coffee maker.

 Cas opened the fridge, and Sam settled on an angle in the doorway to watch the show. Milk, eggs, cheese slices, half an onion-- a tidy little pile of omelet ingredients was gathering on the butcher block. They were joined by garlic salt and dried chives. _Not bad Cas,_ thought Sam. _Dean will love--_

Sam’s eyes widened in shock as the other shoe dropped. _Dean?! Cas is in love with Dean?! That's not-- that can’t be-- I never... damn._

 It made sense. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense. Long stares, awkward pauses, flushed cheeks, nerves and jumps. The way Cas always brightened when Dean walked in, the way he angled his body, the way--

  _Okay,_ Sam thought, taking a deep breath. _Well, I’ve been living on the Love Boat for five years and I didn’t figure it out until now. There’s no way that Dean knows. Should he know? Should I tell him? No, Cas needs to tell him. But when? Now? No, that's even crazier, Dean would lose it completely. Dean will lose it anyway._

 But not Cas. Dean could not lose Cas. If Sam agreed with any of the thoughts flying through his recently mended mind, it was that one. And he would do his best to make sure that Castiel never had to lose Dean, either.

 Another five minutes had passed, at least, and Sam jerked himself out of his thoughts enough to notice that Cas was standing with an egg held gently in the fingers of one hand, as though it were made of crystal, and the only one in the world.

 Eggs were fascinating. This one was white, but Castiel had seen them in nearly all the colours of the rainbow. They were surprisingly strong, also, almost a perfect form to contain something so delicate and fragile. Humans were the reverse, something fragile and vulnerable containing souls of such might and energy. Eggs were an inverse metaphor for the human condition. Except for Dean. Dean tried to be an egg-- hard on the outside, tough, clean. But so easily he could be cracked, destroyed, that golden soul spilled out into the ether and lost into Heaven, beyond Castiel’s reach...

 “Cas?”

 “Dean is not an egg, Sam. He needs to understand that he is human, and frangible.”

 “Um...frangible?”

 “It means--”

 “I know what it means, Cas. No one thinks Dean is an egg. Are you feeling ok?”

 “Yes, very well thank you. How are you, Sam?”

 “Confused. You sure you don’t need any help?”

 Cas smiled sunnily. Sam’s presence had initially been an irritant, but now he could use his friend to help solve the problem of tangential thought paralysis.

 “Perhaps Sam, you could talk me through the process of making these omelets? I would like to physically perform the task myself, but I am having trouble focusing my thoughts.”

  _Wonder why,_ Sam thought smugly to himself. Then he realized that the object of Cas’ unfocused thoughts was probably his half-dressed _please god let him be at least half dressed I am NOT explaining sex to Cas_ elder brother, and his smugness left immediately.

 “Happy to, Cas. You going to be able to crack that egg though? You looked like you were having a moment.”

 “It won’t be a problem. I was simply considering the egg as an inverse metaphor to the human condition. It was of no consequence.”

Sam had no answer to that one.

 “Then let's crack a few and make an omelet.”

 Half an hour later, a very messy Castiel and a breathless from laughing Sam had succeeded in precisely three safely cooked omelets (Sam’s was a little too safe, but he wasn’t going to take any chances), six brown rectangles that were not quite toast, and orange coloured beverage.

 “It isn’t a good example of onomatopoeia,” said Cas, taking a cautious sip of the drink and making a face. “I am not experiencing a sensation of tanginess, just... frankly, Sam, it tastes like ass.”

 Sam laughed so hard he nearly dropped the forks, and Cas started toward the door.

 “I’ll go get Dean.”

 “Wait, hang on Cas. I’ve got a better idea. Go get a tray.”

 “A tray?”

 “Just trust me on this one.”

 Tray finally set (it had taken longer and more patience with Cas than Sam had initially counted on; Castiel was insisting on folding a paper napkin swan because “Swans are the most masculine of God’s creatures, the Greeks were correct in that assertion”) Sam handed it to Cas.

 “Now go on Cas, wake him up with breakfast in bed.”

 Cas fidgeted with the napkin one last time, suddenly nervous. Sam laid a hand on his shoulder, and turned the anxious man towards him.

 “Hey, trust me on this. Ok? If Dean isn’t an egg, then you need to not be a chicken.”

 The blue eyes darkened in thought, and Sam appreciated his friend for a moment. Cas was a very, very good looking guy. If Dean ever pulled his head out of his ass long enough to see it, he was going to be in serious trouble.

 “You are referring to the parochial meaning of the word chicken to imply that one is cowardly?”

 “Yeah, Cas. Now don’t be one.”

 “What if--”

 “It’s a good first step. You want Dean, it takes baby steps. This is a good one.”

 Cas’s eyes lit up, and for a moment, it was as though he were an angel again, alight with power and majesty. It was hard not to shine that joy back at him, so Sam didn’t try.

 “I didn’t know what you would think of me, Sam, it was... chickenly of me not to tell you sooner. I’m glad you know, now. And... approve?”

 “Cas, I couldn’t approve more. Granted, that's because I’m going to get to spend the rest of my life making ‘Touched by an Angel’ jokes. Nevermind, I’ll explain it later. Come on, breakfast is getting cold.”

 Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Castiel picked up the breakfast tray and marched down the hall toward Dean’s door, looking for all the world like the happiest room service in existence. Sam couldn’t help a chuckle, and gave Cas two thumbs up as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. Cas mouthed a silent ‘thank you,’ and entered the room.

 “Hello, Dean. I made breakfast.”

 Sam moved to the doorway, trying to edge in for a candid view. He could see fairly well between the door and its hinges, and he watched as Cas handed the tray over to a smiling, but suspicious-looking, Dean.

 “I’m not dyin’ or anything am I, Cas?”

 “Not as far as I am aware, do you feel poorly?”

 “Nah, just ah, surprised is all. Is everything ok?”

 “Better. Things are, ‘awesome’.”

 Dean and Cas smiled at each other over the breakfast tray, and Sam found himself grinning from ear to ear. He turned to give them some privacy, heading back toward the kitchen to his own breakfast. Not quickly enough to miss the next exchange, however, and he found himself having to finish the trip to the kitchen at a run to stop from laughing.

 “Cas, what the hell is with the fancy chicken napkin?”

“It’s a very masculine swan. I’m not a chicken. And you’re not an egg. But this seemed appropriate for the napkin, since you yourself are quite masculine and the morning has been bird-themed.”

  _Yes,_ thought Sam, sitting down at the kitchen table. _It was a very good start._


End file.
